


Circumstances of Distinction

by MrsCaulfield



Series: If i loved you less... (ineffables in the regency) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Author also rants in the footnotes, Author does not like to write angst so this will not be angsty despite being an angst trope, Author is a very huge Jane Austen fan, Dancing and tons of bickerflirting, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Getting Together, Homophobia? We don't know her, Human AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: "Once, when Aziraphale was younger and far more of a romantic, he had hoped to be swept off his feet into a whirlwind romance: to feel his heart grow asunder over the passionate thrills of love - a Shakespearean love, filled with flowery words and heated confessions. But such aspirations did not long last. In these circles of society, people married for power. For alliance. To marry for love was to condemn oneself to a life of poverty. And to find that love, out of circumstance, from the stale negotiations of a wedded alliance was above all the greatest privilege, one that could not be afforded by even the wealthiest creature in the world."*Sir Anthony Crowley has been living his independent life as a cast-out younger son when he had a baronetcy and failing estate suddenly thrust upon him. Mr Aziraphale, son of a wealthy tradesman, could be the answer to his troubles. A balance of rank and wealth, was this not just what unions were for? A series of meetings in the ballrooms of Bath will determine what fate has in store for these two.A (non angsty) Regency era arranged marriage AU
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: If i loved you less... (ineffables in the regency) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096649
Comments: 111
Kudos: 396





	Circumstances of Distinction

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with a new fic instead of updating my other ongoing projects hhhh
> 
> I suddenly had the idea to do this and slaved over it in 3 days because of how excited I was about it. While I am a sucker for commonly used Regency era tropes in fanfics, I wanted to write one based on the more historically accurate social customs of the time - _sans the homophobia._ Not that I consider myself an expert. I'm very intimidated by writing historical fic because I'm so scared of making inaccuracies and the depth of my historical knowledge is strictly limited to 19th Century England, and the 4.54-billion year history of the Earth prior to human existence (which, I am certain, no one here is really interested in hearing about).
> 
> In short, I am neither a historian nor a literature expert. I'm not even British. I am just a really really huge fan of Jane Austen and have self-studied her writing styles, storytelling methods, and subtext in her novels in great detail, and I will try to imbibe that spirit into this fic and the addition of not-so-nice and hopefully accurate footnotes.

_"I consider the country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both..."_

_"But they are such very different things! --"_

_"--That you think they cannot be compared together."_

**_-Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey (Vol. I Ch. X)_ **

_______

  
For all everyone talked about it, it was well alive in the subconscious mind of all in society that _no one_ attended assembly balls in order to dance.

However common the notion might be in those of youthful spirits, particularly given how many years were spent under the strict guidance of dance masters and etiquette instructors, the true objective of balls was not to enjoin the community into a merry gathering.

The truth, though remained unspoken by those in attendance, was that all flocked to assembly balls in the relentless hopes of entrapping an eligible spouse.

Dance was merely a tool. A chance to talk and flirt and ogle, away from the watchful eyes of chaperones; a method of open communication under the guise of music and coordinated movement.

Such truth was well alive in the mind of Mr Gabriel Fell, as he stood watching over the proceedings of a noisy _contredanse1_ in the Upper Rooms of Bath.

At four-and-thirty, Mr Fell had come into an inheritance of property amounting to nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had fully intended on purchasing an estate, but had not lived long enough to do so. It was a comfortable life they had led, despite hailing from a family in trade2 rather than the learned professions. Still, the distinction mattered to Mr Fell. Everyone knew the unlanded, titleless plebs were doomed to a life of little respectability, and it was for this reason that the acquisition of a sizable estate became his first action upon gaining access to this fortune.

But land was not all that made one truly genteel. For a person to be distinguished with true gentility they must amass an estate, a carriage, not less than a dozen servants, and last but not least: a title.

The first three came to Mr Fell in quick succession. The last one, however, could not be so easily obtained. And where one lacked the distinctions of a family with a long history, they must resort to marrying into one, and such was the objective of tonight's ball.

There was only the small hitch that Mr Fell already had a spouse, with three children to boot. But chief amongst his pursuits was his firm belief that land and money meant close to nothing for those who were in want of good connections. If he were to secure a proper future for his own heir, then they must form relations with those of the peerage.

That task, then, must befall his younger brother, _Aziraphale_.

Unlike the elder Mr Fell, Aziraphale had little more inclination in this event than the actual dancing. It was his first time in Bath and, as one who had never had much chance to venture outside of his home village, he was still lost in the packed heat and vibrancies of the notorious city. But despite being overwhelmed, he was well prepared for the event. Gabriel had drilled him on the highest standards of etiquette and allowed him free rein over his attire. He wore a white waistcoat and tan breeches trimmed with Vandyke lace, and his silk stockings faded into the confines of glossy white evening shoes. It was a far cry from what was considered the proper attire of a gentleman, but he'd needed only to bat his pretty eyelashes at the master of ceremonies and had been allowed entrance.

Once inside, it was evident that there could be no possibility of his ever standing out. Both wings of the Upper Rooms were packed. This was, to date, the biggest assembly he had ever been to. He was used to attending the balls hosted by their local squire, consisting only of four-and-twenty families at most, where most everyone was already acquainted with all the others. In this setting, he was certain that, had he shown up with a disgustingly-coloured powdered wig atop his head3, he would still have been eaten up by the massive crowd.

The music began to play, and Aziraphale wondered whether he would secure any partner for the night. Just as he considered defying direct orders and going about the room to ask someone else, Gabriel appeared at his side.

"Aziraphale. You would do well to prepare yourself. I have caught sight of an acquaintance in this very room whom I should like for you to meet."

Aziraphale repressed the urge to make several knowing remarks. Gabriel was not at all discreet with his matchmaking antics where he was concerned. Not that he minded the concept of being matched, but considering that Gabriel's last choice of a suitor had been... disappointing, to say the least, he would like to proceed with far more caution this time. And he really only looked forward to dancing tonight.

"If it is another one of your dreadful associates, Gabriel, I would prefer to be left to look for my own partners tonight."

"No, this one is quite different. You might even have heard of him. The Crowleys are no strangers to anyone in the village, after all."

Aziraphale perked up at the mention of the name. "Sir Edmund Crowley is here, then?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Do keep up, brother. Sir Edmund Crowley has been dead for five years. It is Sir _Anthony_ Crowley, his brother, who is in attendance."

"Ah." Aziraphale only vaguely knew of the man. The two brothers, being the sons of a baronet, were chief amongst the talk of the town. But Aziraphale had never been in the same social standing to directly communicate with that family until much recently. "How exactly are you acquainted with Sir Anthony Crowley?"

"Crowley? We play cards at a gentleman's gathering every Thursday! Not very good at whist, that guy. But he does well enough in speculation4, I grant him that."

"I didn't even know he'd returned home."

"He has only decided to settle for good in Tadfield half a twelvemonth ago."

"I see." Aziraphale could hardly even recall what he looked like. "And I am to be introduced to him for what reason?" said he with an arched brow.

Gabriel faltered in his composure, bending slightly to speak in a lower tone. "Now I know he isn't exactly peerage, but he _is_ titled."

" _Most unfortunately_ titled, Gabriel. His brother had to die for that distinction."

"And I am sure he has made his most excessive grievances," Gabriel replied indifferently. "A hereditary title is no mean trait in a spouse. And the Crowleys have a long lineage with ties to the nobility."

"Oh, yes. There's nothing more I love in a man than a _long lineage_ and _noble ties._ " His lips pressed tightly to keep from laughing out his own amusement. As expected, it went straight over the elder brother's head.

"I see him again now! I shall call him over and introduce you." He stepped forward, meshing momentarily with the crowd while Aziraphale waited, anxiously shifting on his heels. Barely a few minutes more and his brother reappeared with a tall, red-haired man in tow.

The introductions went more smoothly than Aziraphale had expected. Sir Anthony did not seem to be an unpleasant sort of man, unlike most of Gabriel's acquaintances. And though Aziraphale had some scruples as to Gabriel's intentions of matchmaking, he could not but be gratified when Sir Anthony engaged him directly for the next two dances.

With that settled, he was led by Sir Anthony into their place in the set, feeling the heaviness of Gabriel's gaze upon them as they went. Aziraphale had his hand hitched into Sir Anthony's elbow, and as various heads in the room began to turn towards them, he realised that he had succeeded in engaging the most handsome partner in the room, and felt the swelling of pride at being the one to stand up with him.

The music started to play, and in their place they faced one another, a respectable distance apart. The lead couple began the ministrations of opening the dance, making elegant turns down the set. He and Sir Anthony were still a few ways down, and with not much else to do, he made an attempt to cajole the man into conversation.

"Have you any hobbies, Sir Anthony?" He asked above the increasing chatter of the adjacent couples in the set.

The redhead did not seem eager to reply. He held himself stiffly, with an air of awkwardness that was a little unbecoming of someone of his station.

"I mostly work," he replied curtly, as though eager to evade the attempt at conversation. "I also like plants quite a bit."

Aziraphale nodded. "I like books. Do you read, Sir?"

"Not very much, m'afraid." At another tense moment of silence, he continued. "What books do you like to read?"

"I read almost all of them, really. My father had quite the collection. Though I must confess to a strong preference towards _Udolpho_ , as well as a couple of Shakespeare's tragedies."

"Your taste, then, is either indisputably childish, or far too eager to prove yourself beyond your actual age." The corner of his mouth twitched up into a handsome, teasing grin. 

Aziraphale huffed, slightly affronted by this unexpectedly cutting remark. But he regained his composure and chose to ignore it. "I hardly get to read nowadays, though. The books all belong to my brother now."

There were several more couples ahead of them in the set. He tapped his fingers impatiently against his thigh and, with another feeble attempt to rid himself of the tense silence, he spoke to Sir Anthony again.

"I did not expect you to be the silent sort, Sir. This position will hold for a little while more. Ought we not to make some grand remarks about the room's decorations, or the number of people?"

"If you had expected some stimulating conversation along with your dance, then you have regretfully ill-chosen your partner." There was a hint of mischief glinting in his light brown eyes which Aziraphale could not allow himself to look so deeply upon without flustering.

But there was something about his words which bothered him. Seeing that Sir Anthony was just as disinclined as he was to a proper ballroom conversation, he continued to speak with utter frankness. "And there you have none but yourself to blame."

Sir Anthony's brows arched up with amusement, readily taking on his challenging tone. "Really?" replied he, in evident disbelief.

Aziraphale nodded once, gracefully. "You forget, Sir, that it is you who have chosen _me_ for a partner."

"Indeed. But you have chosen to accept my offer."

"The choice to accept is nothing but an illusion." Aziraphale could not keep the words from spilling out, having been stored up right until this very moment. Let Sir Anthony think the worst of him for it, but he could hardly care, so long as he knew he was speaking the truth.

Sir Anthony, though, only appeared to be more intrigued. "An illusion? Would you care to explain?"

"As you are the gentleman of higher rank, it would have been highly indecorous of me to ask _you_. No, Sir. All the power of choice lies solely on you. Mine is only the power to refuse."

"And you could have chosen to wield that power."

Here Aziraphale shook his head and found that he was smiling. "Had I actually refused you, I would have been obliged to quit all my dancing for the night5. And unfortunately I am greatly fond of dancing. The power, then, is to your advantage alone. And you must bear all the blame in your ill choice of such a brash, outspoken partner."

Sir Anthony seemed at a loss for words. His eyes were wide, his jaw hanging open slightly. Aziraphale knew not what to make of such a strange expression. But soon, he recovered, and the redhead's grin widened on his face, baring two rows of endearingly crooked teeth.

"I know not what to say to that. By god, what _can_ I say to that?" He clutched his stomach, chuckling heavily. "I concede, then, Mr Aziraphale."

* * *

The morning after brought overcast skies over the Fells' temporary lodgings at Marlborough Buildings. They had been three weeks in Bath and would there remain for five more. By now, much of the city's initial marvels had lost their lustre with Aziraphale, who had been already to many of its attractions and could now less ignore its more pitiful qualities; but today the darkened skies did little to shadow his spirits when he went down to breakfast.

Gabriel ran over him a scrutinizing stare as he took his seat. "You have not even dressed yet," was his only remark, sharp and clipped.

"Should I have?" Returned Aziraphale, helping himself to a significant portion of some bread and soup. Supper in the assembly was dreadful, near icy cold and left him starving. How an establishment could attract the upper echelons of society and make such irreparable dishonours to their food, he could not fathom. When he had his own home, he would keep a well-stocked kitchen, for residents and guests alike. "I'm hardly expecting any company today."

"Then you would be wrong. I'm certain we will be meeting at least one person today."

Aziraphale paused momentarily, chewing on a piece of bread and narrowing his eyes over his brother as he held back the chuckle which threatened to rise from his throat. "You cannot seriously be thinking that _he_ would come."

"Sir Anthony showed you his great favours last night."

"Sir Anthony was being a respectful and perfectly tolerable gentleman," said Aziraphale, no longer able to hold back his chuckles. "However that may have appeared to you, I do not think he liked me very much. Though I must commend his great restraint, for I cannot seem to goad him into much outward annoyance."

"Commendable indeed," remarked Gabriel with a resigned nod. "But I would not be surprised if he were to call on us today6."

"In this weather?" He gestured a free hand over to the large windows behind Gabriel's head, outside of which the sky had gone only even darker. "I doubt he would think it a journey worth taking, at least for the time being. He is better off keeping his boots clean of dust and mud. And even if he were to show up, it would be for no more than five minutes. Only enough to pay respects to a card-playing acquaintance."

Surprisingly, the elder brother did not bother to retort this statement. In front of others, he would no doubt claim a stronger bond to the baronet than he had any rights to; but he could make no such claim with Aziraphale who, in the span of two dances shared with the latter, had accurately assessed the great disparity between the two, and how very little actual friendship could spring from them. Gabriel strode down rooms with the air of one eager to prove his belongingness. He smiled far too much, and very rare were those smiles of any actual substance. 

In contrast, Sir Anthony had a more subdued presence. He had the settled composure of one who was secure in his rank, even with the trace of awkwardness he held. It was to be expected, somehow. From what he'd heard, the man had been fresh out of Oxford when he had the baronetcy and estate suddenly thrust upon him. No one had expected Sir Edmund's untimely passing, after all.

"It could well be supposed that he did not like your character, but from a practical perspective, it would be a match to his advantage."

Aziraphale's knife clattered down over his plate, his cheeks flaming. " _His_ advantage? But he is a baronet, and I only a merchant's son!"

The elder brother's face turned instantly sour. "I beg you would not refer to yourself as that."

"It is the truth."

"I am _aware._ " Gabriel added a pointed glare in his direction. "That chapter of our lives is over and done with."

 _And yet you remain desperate to bury it from all eyes,_ Aziraphale thought but did not dare to say. It was no use arguing with his stubborn brother. "I cannot imagine what Sir Anthony would want with me."

"The Tadfield estate is of considerable value, but has been heavily mismanaged." Gabriel was privy to the affairs of all the neighbours, so Aziraphale resorted to believing this to be true. "I believe an entail has prevented his brother from selling off a portion of it, and so it remained in its entirety, passed onto Crowley in a derelict state. One he is desperate to fix."

"Goodness. That is a lot of responsibility."

"He is a person of rank, Aziraphale, but by no means wealthy. And you know what those people are always after."

"A rich spouse," he answered deftly.

"Which you, potentially, are. He'd be blind not to see it."

Aziraphale knew not what to make of this new realisation. But before he could give it some more thought, they were interrupted by the appearance of their housekeeper by the door.

"Sir Anthony Crowley is in the drawing room, sir."

At this, Gabriel shot him the widest and least substantial of smiles. "See? Arrived even earlier than I expected."

* * *

The visit lasted much longer than five minutes, though that in no way indicated an eagerness to remain in their surprise visitor. Sir Anthony did not at all seem keen to converse with Gabriel, and it was evident that neither of them were particularly willing to forward the acquaintance beyond what could be deemed advantageous on both sides. Aziraphale could only wish this contrived situation had nothing to do with _him_. Not that he was confident that Sir Anthony would make pursuit of him, but the possibility was there.

The awkwardness became too much to bear and Aziraphale excused himself out of the room to get some fresh air. Whatever the two wanted to talk about, they may do so now without dragging him into it. He went out for a walk along the dusty roads, until a mizzle of rainshower entreated him to turn back. In his haste to leave, he had forgotten to bring an umbrella, and he shuddered to think how he may appear with rain-damp curls sticking to his forehead and thick mud caked around his boots, straining his calves with each step.

When he returned to Marlborough Buildings, he was surprised to see Gabriel in spirits so stern he could not but wonder whether Sir Anthony had done anything in particular to make him cross. 

It was only when Gabriel had implored him to take a seat that he realised it was more likely that they had come to an agreement.

"Brother." Gabriel cleared his throat, his spine ramrod straight on his armchair as though he were negotiating a business deal. "As you know, you currently have a standing offer of proposal from Lord Sandalphon, which you have yet to respond to."

Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The very mention of the baron's name made him want to recoil in disgust. Had he been more prepared, he would have declared his refusal outright, but Lord Sandalphon's professions were sprung on him so suddenly that he could only have been at a loss for words.

"I do not think you should get your hopes up for that."

"I at least hope you've given it some thought." Gabriel was in no mood for jest, it seemed. His face was devoid of emotion. "Think what a life you would lead! He has a house up in Lansdown. You would be settled here in Bath, among fashionable society, going to dinners and balls and the opera."

"I hardly think his lordship has come to Bath for dancing and music. He takes to the waters7 in the Pump Rooms twice a day. For his hip ailment."

"This is no appropriate time for your wise remarks, Aziraphale."

"He is sixteen years my senior, and we have nothing in common!" Returned Aziraphale, exasperated. "If I were to take on the task of marriage, I would at least want to be settled in a satisfactory one. One based on traits of admiration and respect. I doubt Lord Sandalphon has any of those for me and I certainly cannot conjure any for _his_ sake."

Gabriel swallowed hard, leaning back on his seat with a grave air. For a moment, Aziraphale hoped that this would be the end of the conversation, but then the elder brother spoke again.

"Very well. If you are resolved on refusing Lord Sandalphon, I hope you are open to an _alternative._ "

"And what would that be?"

"It is important to mention now that Cro - _Sir Anthony,_ while inferior to Lord Sandalphon in station, would be a suitable alternative. He is close to you in age, and is aware of what benefits he will obtain from the match."

Aziraphale's heart sank. "Oh."

"I hope you are aware how fortunate you are to even be getting this offer at all, and would soon stop your childish nonsense. You are not getting any younger, Aziraphale. And you know the duties you have to this family."

Aziraphale lowered his eyes to the floor. "I do know."

Once, when he was younger and far more of a romantic, he had hoped to be swept off his feet into a whirlwind romance: to feel his heart grow asunder over the passionate thrills of love - a _Shakespearean_ love, filled with flowery words and heated confessions. But such aspirations did not long last, for almost nobody around him married for love. If he were still only a merchant's son, he perhaps could have hoped, but in _these_ circles of society, people married for power. For alliance. To marry for love was to condemn oneself to a life of poverty. And to find that love, out of circumstance, from the stale negotiations of a wedded alliance was above all the greatest privilege, one that could not be afforded by even the wealthiest creature in the world.

* * *

In Bath they remained two weeks more, during which Aziraphale had gone to the opera, taken long walks and leisured around Milsom Street, and attended two more balls in the Upper Rooms and one in the Lower Rooms (the latter he'd gone to alone, for Gabriel had no inclination to dwell on that unfashionable corner of the city). He'd danced with Sir Anthony a few more times in those as well, and each additional encounter left his head spinning for hours after.

In those two weeks, Sir Anthony's calls to Marlborough Buildings became more frequent. At the end of those two weeks, Aziraphale woke up and found that Gabriel was intending to go out for an early walk.

"Walking is an exercise I am greatly fond of," said Gabriel as he put on his Wellingtons by the door.

"In the country, maybe, but _here?_ " Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. "You could hardly even bear to get a speck of dust on your shoes when we have to disembark a carriage." 

"Nonsense! Early morning walks always put me in great spirits! I declare, there is no greater place for fresh air and morning walks than Bath."

Aziraphale did not know what to make of this odd behaviour. He sighed and turned back round for breakfast.

In retrospect, the intent should have been clear to him once Sir Anthony showed up at the door. 

"My brother is still out," said he to the visitor, with an apologetic smile. Aziraphale had found him waiting in the sitting room and pacing on his feet. He added, "But I think he will be back soon."

"I did not come here to speak with your brother." Sir Anthony stood, wrenching the edges of his tophat in his grasp by his chest. He seemed bent on averting Aziraphale's gaze. "My objective in coming here is to see _you._ "

"Ah." Aziraphale's smile turned shaky, his heart pounding louder than he knew could be possible. "Please be seated, Sir."

"No, I... I would prefer to do this standing up, if you don't mind."

Aziraphale found himself nodding. 

Uncertainty tainted the baronet’s countenance; he shifted from foot to foot and his eyes landed on anywhere but Aziraphale, and he found himself wanting to extend some reassurance. How a man like Sir Anthony could conduct himself with so little confidence, he did not know. Who was Aziraphale Fell to intimidate a person of _his_ distinction? Surely there could be nothing in this situation to frighten him. Surely he must know that Aziraphale already meant to accept.

With a final helpless sigh, Sir Anthony froze his movements, looking directly at him. "Aziraphale..."

He gave him what he hoped was a comforting smile. "Do go on, my dear."

At this, Sir Anthony's cheeks turned a light shade. His tone grew in confidence.

"These past weeks I've grown some considerable admiration towards you. You are captivating, and I... I find your company to be a great source of enjoyment."

Aziraphale could now feel the pounding of his heart in his ears. However much he had expected this proposal, he did not anticipate to be hearing some words of flattery along with it. It mattered little whether Sir Anthony meant them or not. The fact that he was willing to humble himself in such a graceful manner spoke highly of his character.

"I think," continued he, stepping slightly closer towards him. "That we might do well together, if you could find it in yourself to accept me."

"If I could?"

"In return, I promise to give you a life where you are free and could want for nothing."

Sir Anthony stopped within arm's reach. He was a few inches taller, and Aziraphale looked up at him with unshifting resolve. Boldly, he took hold of his hand, and Sir Anthony's mouth fell open to a gasp.

Aziraphale brought that hand up to his mouth, his lips brushing over bare knuckles while he filled with inexplicable warmth. Looking directly into brown eyes, he replied warmly: "I would be delighted, Sir."

* * *

Aziraphale remained at Marlborough Buildings until the completion of their trip, during which Sir Anthony obtained them a license and took care of all the necessary preparations. Within a month, they were married in Aziraphale's home parish, the wedding having been a sombre affair8. In attendance was Gabriel, who had every reason to envy Aziraphale in his match but could only be gratified when he found how much less opulent was their wedding than his own had been. Not enough laces and jewels, and Aziraphale wore far less pearls in his hair than he had.

The journey to Tadfield Park, Sir Anthony's principal seat, was not a long one, and by late evening they arrived. A distance of eight miles could be easily conquered in a day should Aziraphale ever be inclined to pay visit to his niece and nephews at the Fells home, where he had been staying prior.

The home at Tadfield was a dark and imposing structure. Its architecture spoke of a history that stretched far back. Aziraphale could nearly feel it brimming through the edges of flooring, seeping through each window crack. Unlike Gabriel's home, which had been filled up with all the tacky ornate furnishings, Tadfield looked a lot cleaner. There were wide open spaces lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in a lot of natural light. There was a selection of wallhangings that seemed curated by Sir Anthony himself. But what he was most surprised to find was that the house kept a total of eight servants and a coachman, a feat that doubtless would infuriate his vainglorious brother, should he get wind of it.

Sir Anthony seemed a little embarrassed, however. Once he was done with introducing Aziraphale to the staff, he led him up the stairs and ducked his head. "I am sure you are used to having more servants in your former home."

"That may be, but it is of no concern to me. What will they all have to do, with only two of us here?" 

The staircase opened up to a long hallway on both sides. He was inspecting the wall hangings when suddenly he felt a spark travel up his shoulder and neck, and on looking down discovered that Sir Anthony had taken hold of his elbow.

"I'll show you to your chambers," said he, gesturing his free hand over to the right wing of the hall. A little stunned, Aziraphale nodded.

Aziraphale's chambers were of no mean size and carefully furnished, with an adjoining dressing closet - a luxury he had never known while living under Gabriel's roof. At present it was a little bare, but he could see himself settling in eventually.

He turned to his companion - _husband_ now, eagerly supplied his brain. That would take some getting used to. "This is all so lovely. Thank you, Sir."

"Crowley."

"I'm sorry?"

"Please call me Crowley. I've never liked you referring to me by title. Hate it, in fact."

"Oh." Aziraphale felt a small pang in his chest for some reason. "You could have told me sooner, Crowley. In return, I would like for you to call me Aziraphale."

"Of course."

It was far too late by the time he recollected that Crowley had already referred to him in that manner. Once. During his proposal of marriage. Aziraphale's cheeks went suddenly hot.

The room was quiet, and through the windows was the darkest of nights, the moon being shrouded in some clouds. But inside, it was warm and adequately lit by the wax candles lining the walls. In the center was a large bed with cream-coloured sheets that Aziraphale took an instant liking to. It looked comfortable. At last, he returned his gaze to Crowley, who had been carefully observing him all throughout, as though eager to assess _something_.

 _Oh, right._ His brain had been too slow on that as well. With little scruple, he slipped off his coat and folded it neatly over the edge of the bed. His hands came up to his nape to loosen his neck-stock, and off that went as well. When his fingers flitted over to the top button of his waistcoat, he yelped when Crowley's hands came instantly to seize his wrists.

_"What the hell are you doing?"_

His voice came out in a low growl, so deep and rumbling that Aziraphale was stuck for several moments, frozen by his intense gaze. Crowley's jaw tightened, his hands gripping Aziraphale, triggering pins and needles all the way to his fingertips.

"A-are we not going to - " his voice sounded frail even to his own ears.

Crowley shook his head. "There is no need to engage in that9." His stare was frantic, though his hands relaxed a bit over his wrists. "Had one of us been capable of childbearing, there would have been certain expectations; but as we are not, you are in no way obliged to do any more than you are comfortable with."

Aziraphale attempted to tamp down his disappointment. Never had he known how painful it would be to discover that not even his husband could find him attractive. In this case, it was all the more significant. Crowley was a very handsome man, and Aziraphale knew he had work ahead of him if he wanted to present himself as worthy of standing next to him. But if even Crowley thought it a vain effort, what hope could he have of ever succeeding?

He swallowed and hardened his gaze. "Others might not have expectations of us, but have you no expectations from me, as your spouse?"

"I expect you to be capable of taking charge of the affairs of this household," he replied coldly. "And I do know you are capable, after a bit of instruction. Other than that, I have no expectations and you are free to do as you please."

With a silent nod, Aziraphale seated himself on the edge of the bed and began plucking loose thread out of the sheet. "While I am flattered that you have that much faith in me, there is some concern on my, um, authority." 

"Why should that concern you? As my spouse, you are my equal in every respect. You have my rank and all due precedence attached to it. I dare anyone to be foolish enough to forget that any disrespect to you is a personal affront to _me."_

Aziraphale was struck by the surge of protectiveness in his husband's tone, though he knew this to be entirely untrue. Long before the marriage had taken place, Gabriel had made clear to him that being a baronet and a baronet's spouse were two entirely different stations. Though he would be permitted - _expected,_ even - to stand next to Crowley on various occasions, he bore no title of his own. And without his husband's presence in the same room, he was as good as a lowly commoner. 

But to hear these words, to hear that he was Crowley's _equal,_ directly from his mouth assuaged many of his fears, and he increased only in pride at having secured such a sensible husband, as well as determination to step up into this new role to meet and exceed Crowley's expectations of him.

And on the vainer perspective, it was gratifying to know that, with a baronet for his husband, Gabriel must now commit to stand second to _him_ at dinner parties10.

* * *

The following days found him entirely occupied in the task of learning how to manage the household. Crowley had left him under the care of Mrs Tracy, the housekeeper, and he was pleased to find her such a good-natured and clever woman. She had been with the family for decades, having raised Crowley since childhood. And amongst their more serious conversations, Aziraphale found merriment in listening to her tell stories of the rambunctious child that had been Crowley.

They were down in the servants hall, sharing some snack, when Aziraphale nearly fell over his seat from laughing at a tale of a far too curious eight-year-old Crowley that nearly lit an entire field aflame.

"Oh, this is too precious!" uttered he in between fits of laughter. "I cannot, for the life of me, reconcile that child with the Crowley I know now."

Mrs Tracy gave him a close-lipped smile. "I do hope he hasn't been so hard on you, dear."

"No, not at all, but." He paused, pressing a finger to his lip in deep thought. "But is he always so intense? Hot one moment and cold the very next? I never quite know where I stand with him."

"Ah, I do not think he has always been like that. He was a bit quiet, and when he did speak it was only to ask questions."

"Questions? Of what sort?"

"All sorts, really. He had a burning curiosity towards everything. Always eager to figure out how the things he saw worked."

"And were they always answered?"

"More often they were unanswered."

"I see."

"It was the passing of his brother, I think, that changed him."

Here Aziraphale turned glum. "I imagine he must miss him very much."

"I doubt it." Mrs Tracy let out a snicker. At Aziraphale's perplexed face, she went on. "When Master Edmund was alive, he did little more than gambling, and there he spent much of his wealth. Acquired debts, too. When the young master went off to college, he had cut him entirely off. They had absolutely no communication, and the relations were considered over and done with. Until news of his demise reached, and he had no choice but to return as the only heir."

"And to fix all of his brother's mishaps," Aziraphale stated, hardly able to believe it. 

Mrs Tracy nodded. "Master Edmund was a daft man, incapable of gaining favour from anyone. But young master Anthony has always been fair. If he appears cold to you, I hope you understand his situation."

It was no wonder that Crowley left early every day; he must have plenty of affairs to settle all over the estate and negotiations with bankers as well. Aziraphale could not but be ashamed of himself. How dare he suppose Crowley to be lacking as a spouse, when he had been hard at work to improve the lives of all those who depended on him? Aziraphale may not have been born into rank and good society, but he _had_ been born into money, comfort, and parents who prized moderation and economy. And without a family estate to manage, he'd hardly had any responsibilities. Even when Gabriel had purchased his estate, Aziraphale's role in it had been inconsequential. What had he brought into this marriage, other than the money he had not even worked for? That was hardly fair to Crowley, and certainly he ought to be doing more to help him.

* * *

Crowley usually left very early in the day, and most of the time kept to his study whenever he was home. As such, on the rare morning that Aziraphale had caught up to him on the breakfast table, he immediately determined to engage him into conversation.

"Crowley."

"Hm?" He had been engrossed in scribbling some calculations on a scrap parchment; wrinkled brow in deep thought.

"Why is it that you leave every day? What do you do exactly?"

Crowley turned to look at him. He appeared to not have expected such a question. "Sometimes I meet with colleagues, sometimes with lawyers. Most days I check up on my tenants."

"Your tenants?"

"The farmers, usually. I monitor the growth of their crops."

Aziraphale was entirely puzzled. It was no wonder that Crowley always tired himself out! Gabriel had an agent to settle such affairs for him, and he had nowhere near exerted himself to the same level that Crowley was doing at present.

"Is that not an agent's job, though?" He remarked, his tone gentle but persuasive. "I don't think Gabriel would bother communicating at all with any of his tenants. Perhaps you could relieve some burden if you get yourself one of those as well."

Crowley slammed down his cup with force, startling him. 

"No."

"But might you not consider - "

"There is nothing _to_ consider."

Never before had he heard true anger in Crowley's voice. Aziraphale's mouth twisted with the growing grimness in his chest, nodding tightly.

"Have I said something to upset you?"

Crowley made no response.

It seemed that was all he was to get for this morning.

* * *

“Mrs Tracy, I wonder,” uttered Aziraphale when they had paused by a set of double doors on the first floor, situated near Crowley’s chambers. “I have seen this entrance many times but I do not think it has ever been opened. Has it always been locked?”

Her response was only a fidgety stare, smile gracing her beautifully worn face. “The young master has given us instruction that only he may enter that room, sir.”

Aziraphale stared at the golden ornate handles with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Do you know what he gets on about in this room? I feel I have a right to know what my husband does.”

She shook her head. “He has been very secretive about it, I’m afraid. The previous master Edmund made use of it as a private study. I know not what Anthony does with it now.”

“Do you not find that the slightest bit peculiar?”

Mrs Tracy only shrugged in reply.

* * *

It was a month into the marriage when they received the invitation to their first event as a wedded pair - a private ball hosted by the Youngs.

“I hope you’ve readied your skills at conversation along with your dancing shoes,” said Crowley as they sat by the fire inside the drawing room. “Mrs Young is a bit of a talker.” He passed the invitation along to Aziraphale for his own perusal.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Who goes to a ball for meaningful conversation?”

“You do, if memory serves right.”

Struck, Aziraphale cleared his throat and continued his speech. “In balls, people care for little else other than pleasantries and gossip.” 

Crowley huffed out an amused laugh, and in a mockingly higher tone, said: “ _‘What say you about this white soup? I find it inferior to what I had served at my own party a week ago.’”_

_“‘Her gown is exquisite. Far too exquisite if you ask me. Oh, but must not compliment! We do not compliment the tailors for doing their job.’”_

_“‘Oh, do you hear Miss Eve has purchased herself a phaeton? No wonder her physician’s fees have gone exorbitant!’_ ”

There was a pause, during which they sat in silence, as though they too were shocked at what they had just been doing. But it was Aziraphale who gave in first, slapping a hand to his mouth and devolving into a fit of giggles, and Crowley joined him soon after.

When they had settled down into comfortable silence once more, Crowley sighed. “But I am glad we did not go with any small talk, during our first meeting.”

“Are you?” Aziraphale struggled to believe it.

Crowley nodded thoughtfully. “Too superficial. Far too many mismatched unions have resulted from small talk in a ballroom - a key tool to conceal one’s own insipidity from others, when one talks only of gossip and occasionally the change in weather, and where you’ll be staying for the season. They know nothing of the person’s character, and by the time the shades have been lifted, it is too late, and they are doomed. Doomed to a life of misery in matrimony.”

“Perhaps. But then it may have benefited me to conceal from you some of my more tactless tendencies.” Aziraphale noted with a smile, recalling how he had purposefully baited Crowley into a banter that would give him discomfort.

“No, it was thanks to that lack of protection that I immediately knew you to be the most intelligent and fascinating wonder in all of Bath.”

Aziraphale froze, feeling as though he had been awakened so suddenly into a hot summer morning. He turned in his chair to face Crowley, who sat motionless, staring into the fire.

“I consider myself lucky, then, to not have ended up in one of those mismatched unions,” he whispered.

A small smile appeared on Crowley’s angular features, only a fraction of which he could see from this perspective, the other portion of it still shrouded in mystery. Still, his voice when he spoke his reply rang loud and clear.

“So do I.”

* * *

The Youngs’ manor was not as expensively furnished as Gabriel's, nor did it have the long history of Crowley's abode, but it was adequately lavish and inviting, the walls high but windows open, ringing with laughter and music. 

Filled with so much warmth and brimming so much with love that Aziraphale could not but be in exceedingly high spirits, despite the fact that he had donned the wrong pair of evening shoes, and he stood on aching feet confined in leather an inch too small.

To his pleasure, Crowley also seemed to be in high spirits, and with a smile placed more often on his face, Aziraphale found himself once more captivated by his husband. His red hair was slicked back and tidy around his clean shaven face. Even in a room filled with fine gentlemen, Crowley evidently had the fullest advantage. He had the most upright figure and exquisitely tailored clothing. And while Aziraphale had paid greater attention to his own appearance before they had left, he knew he could not quite compare.

As more eyes were drawn to them, he blushed to think how his husband must appear, to everyone in the room, everything so desirable.

The dancers were all into position, jumping around and clapping, flushed and completely out of breath. From the side, they looked, with Crowley standing close to his side. 

"Will not you be dancing tonight, Crowley?"

In response, Crowley turned his head towards him slightly, a sly grin forming on his face.

"That depends on whether you will accept my offer."

This took him aback considerably. The music, the dancing, and the light teasing in his tone were all so reminiscent of how they had been in Bath - which to him now seemed ages rather than months ago. How altered a creature Aziraphale had become since! He no longer wished to spend the entire night until dawn dancing, and had little inclination to flit about the room in order to escape Gabriel's watchful eyes. Instead, he looked forward to a night of reading a book close by the fire at home, resting his aching feet.

He let out an amused giggle. "While I would love to relive the pleasant days we've had in Bath, I'm afraid I am in no fit state to be dancing at the moment. I have not the right shoes for it."

"Is that not to your advantage, then?" Returned Crowley, a rich smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth. "That way you may blame your missteps on your ill-fitting shoes and not, as it were, to your lack of coordination."

Aziraphale feigned an offended gasp. "You _fiend!_ You ought to be careful what words you say to me, or I just might be compelled to accept the hand of the next fine gentleman who deigns to ask me."

"To stand next to one other than your husband? Wonder what the neighbours will think."

"They will think me selfless and benevolent for stepping up to complete the odd number of couples they have for the next set11."

"Ah, yes, selfless and benevolent is what you are. A true angel." The glint in his eyes hinted at a secret known to him alone, and Aziraphale blushed some more.

"In all honesty, we are better off without me stepping on your toes and embarrassing you in the open. I fear you will only regret me for a partner."

The smirk wiped clean off of Crowley's face, giving way to a look almost tender, directed openly at him, showing a rare moment of unguardedness. 

"You mistake me. I would not, in any case, regret you for anything."

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. Music filled the room yet again as another set began, and along with the melody swelled his courage to take hold of Crowley's hand.

Crowley looked down on their joined hands, then at him, confused.

His mouth was twisted in deep emotion, in a look so imploring that the possibilities of all Aziraphale may have said to him in that moment, had they been alone, were endless.

Crowley tightened his grip around his fingers, securing the hold. The sensations of it filled him with a degree of warmth that left him to wonder how it could be so possible to unite the best of all comforts and pleasures in the simplicity of a welcomed touch.

He leaned close and whispered to Aziraphale's ear. "Would you like to head home now?"

Aziraphale took a look about the room. They had been here long enough, and the crowd had begun already to thin out. He nodded. "Shall we go pay respects to Mrs Young?"

"I will take care of it."

* * *

Crowley led the way to their carriage, a chaise and four acquired shortly after they had wed. He paused by the door to bark orders at the coachman, and Aziraphale climbed straight in.

Not long after, Crowley followed, bent by the hip over the two rows of seating. Moonlight being the only means by which they could see, all of Aziraphale's other senses heightened to his husband's presence. He seemed to be struggling with a moment's decision of where he should seat himself, whether beside him or on the bench across, and had seemed on the verge of outright asking, when Aziraphale seized his hand and pulled him down to his side.

Crowley acquiesced, letting out a gust of breath as his back hit the leather. It was not long before the horses were drawn to position, and they set forth back to Tadfield.

Aziraphale had a million thoughts racing in his mind, and so thoroughly occupied was he that he did not know how to further accommodate the rush of hot blood in his pulse points at being in, after all this time, so near Crowley's proximity.

"Um. I am sorry to end the night early," said Aziraphale, more to fill the silence with something other than the noisy galloping.

Crowley shook his head. "It is all right. Your feet, I am sure, will thank you tomorrow for choosing to retire sooner." He laced his fingers with Aziraphale's.

The rest of the journey transpired in silence, and every so often Aziraphale would run his thumb over the back of his hand.

When they arrived home and stepped off the carriage, Crowley seemed still reluctant to release his hand. Aziraphale let him keep it, unsure if he would need it for a more significant purpose. 

He could not be certain whether it was the merriment at the Youngs or merely the quality of the negus, but Aziraphale could no more understand where this shift in their relationship had come from than he could contrive a willingness to stop it. 

Their hands remained clasped as they entered the doors of their home, still as they wandered up the staircase. And upon arriving at the juncture where they would separate into their own chambers, Aziraphale threw him a meaningful look.

"Well I guess we should - "

Off into the aether did his words dissipate when Crowley grabbed him by the waist and placed a fervent kiss to his mouth, bending him back over the railings.

Aziraphale released a throaty moan, deep and reverberating through both their mouths. He could not but savour each press of their lips and each tentative glide of their hands against the other’s form. How much sweeter this was than any fine wine he’d consumed! How much warmer his response than to any he’d done before. How grave a crime it was that it had taken him this long to know the taste of his husband’s mouth. Crowley moved with a swift decisiveness, a character of predatory creatures, and he worked to match his enthusiasm, his fingers trailing up Crowley's stomach and chest to find purchase over his lapels, tugging him closer.

When Crowley's tongue slipped out to nudge his lips, he parted them obediently, eyelids fluttering. It was hot. There was the frantic need to touch, to give and to take, and above all to lessen the barriers separating their bare, flushed skin. 

He allowed his hands to trail lower on his husband's lithe form. His palms settled a while into the dip above his pelvis, caressing, as Crowley drank more from his lips, ravenous and demanding. Aziraphale nearly struggled to keep up with it. There was so much need and desperation, and so eager was he to fill in that need, to do all he could to satisfy that craving, though Crowley showed no signs of wanting to slow down, and he could do none but to receive it all.

His hands moved down further, slipping behind to knead at his backside. Crowley whimpered against his mouth, before pulling back to nose up his jawline and slip a tongue gently to his ear, following it with a hot exhale of breath.

Aziraphale shivered in his hold and pressed their hips flush, the heat of satisfaction thrumming in his veins when he found that they were, evidently, equally aroused.

 _"Crowley..."_ he moaned as the redhead nibbled playfully on his earlobe. He craned his neck, eager to expose more skin to his further inspection. Their hips rolled in a slow rhythm, sparks of heat stemming from his groin, giving way to more pleasured moans, only enhanced by the slight pain from the wooden railing that was digging into his lower back.

Crowley trailed wet kisses down his jaw, and paid more down the side of his neck. Aziraphale's mind was heady with intense arousal, and all he could think now was how he must finally bed his husband tonight.

He planted his hands on Crowley's chest, pushing gently, enough only for him to pull so Aziraphale could tug him into his chambers, but the signal fell entirely out of sorts on Crowley's end, and he recoiled instantly from Aziraphale's touch, flinging himself to the wall behind him, gasping heavily.

"Aziraphale," he said, his voice still thick with arousal. "Fuck. I should not have done that."

"What?"

"I - I'm sorry. I must go." 

He made a bow of his head, out of courtesy surely, but under recent developments had only appeared to be mocking, and Aziraphale, who had still yet to regain control of his mental faculties since the moment he took Crowley's hand in his, could only look after him in confusion as he marched off towards his rooms.

* * *

Aziraphale awoke the following morning with a determination greater than would be expected of one who had, only the night before, been thrown into the deepest gallows of disappointment.

However greatly puzzled he was by Crowley's conduct, he could not resort to leaving the matter as it were. In no way had he forced Crowley into doing anything, and it was he who had initiated the proceedings at the staircase. And who was Aziraphale not to fall right into the wiles of a skilled tempter, to take the low-hanging fruit offered to him by the husband he had grown so fond of? Crowley had used him ill in his cowardice, and Aziraphale had never been one to let matters go unresolved. It was reasonable to believe that Crowley may simply not be eager to engage in the more physical concerns of building a marriage, but their easy banter and comfort with the other proved that it was entirely possible to build a loving friendship out of this union, even without participating in carnal pleasures. At the very least, Aziraphale would not stand for any avoidance and awkwardness between them. He was to endeavour to understand Crowley, so that the events of the previous night would never again transpire.

Much earlier than his usual habits, he went down to breakfast. Crowley was seated on one end of the breakfast table with some food on his plate. Upon his entry into the room, the chair legs scuffed back over wooden flooring, giving way to Crowley standing on his feet, quick as lightning.

"Aziraphale."

The blond's brows furrowed with amusement. "My dear, there is no need for that formality. It is only me." He took his seat over at the other end of the table, picking up food with elegant nonchalance as he felt Crowley's gaze on him, relentless.

Crowley returned to his seat and cleared his throat. "You are not usually up this early."

"Will you be going out today?" 

Crowley nodded, his gaze still wary. "I am to check on one of my tenants. I leave after breakfast."

"I awoke early today because I figured I might join you."

A piece of bread seemed to lodge itself in his throat, and Crowley coughed into his fist. "I don't.... You will find it a dreary business."

"Nonsense. I think, as your spouse, I should be acquainted not just with your house, but also your property, as well as those who dutifully tend to it. It would give me great pleasure."

Crowley took a long sip of his tea, probably to soothe his constricted throat, and Aziraphale beamed with satisfaction.

"Very well. Finish your breakfast and we will go."

* * *

"Crowley."

The taller man twisted back from where he stood on the gravel, evidently struck by the sternness in his tone.

"Yes?"

"You did not mention that you purchased another carriage."

"Did I never tell you?" His hand came up to the back of his head, shrugging diffidently. Though his eyes showed the unease which his voice had suppressed. "All right. Look, I am sorry I never mentioned it."

"We already have a carriage!"

"This isn't a carriage, Aziraphale, it's a _barouche12._"

"Do I look as if I care what you wish to call it? It is a horse-drawn vehicle with wheels! A carriage!"

He huffed and crossed his arms. Crowley appeared to be lightly stunned and amused. He opened the door to the carriage, gesturing to the plush, bright red seats with flourish. "After you."

It was a sight to behold, though Aziraphale would never admit to it out loud. The barouche was painted sleek black, the edges etched with small ornate details. The wheels were clean of dust and dirt, hoisting the seats far above the ground. When he got into the vehicle and settled into the seat facing the driver, he could not but marvel at the view. He had never been on an open carriage before, and he discovered there to be a certain sense of freedom attached to it which a chaise simply lacked.

Crowley climbed in and sat himself on the seat across, his back turned to the driver, and shut the door. He grinned smugly. "You like it."

Aziraphale turned up his nose. "It is decent."

"Of course."

Aziraphale elected to ignore him for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Their destination was to a mill farm run by the Pulsifer family, situated around the eastern-central portions of the property. Up on a hill was perched a vast flatland from whereupon an array of verdant apple trees sprung, dusting up the clear skies with their glistening fruit. An awestruck Aziraphale walked along the neat gravel path.

"It is so beautiful here.”

"It's the soil," returned Crowley, pausing to stand to his side, looking proudly over the farm. "The land of Tadfield is fertile, but I've determined apples are the best to be grown given the conditions. Shame my brother never used it to his advantage. Right now, I work closely with Mr Pulsifer to use this space for various methods to produce the best."

A warm feeling settled over him, subtly and inexplicably. He found himself shifting slightly closer to his companion.

"You appear to know a lot about farming."

Crowley shrugged. "Farming to me is a recent endeavour, though I've always understood plants." He turned to face Aziraphale, his eyes unexpectedly wistful and only a little bit shy. "When I was a kid, we had a kind gardener. For a while she, uh, she was my only friend."

Aziraphale's heart ached for the lonely boy in that large, isolating house. He could not imagine what it must have been like. Though he and Gabriel had never fully gotten along, Aziraphale had been blessed with a family that never taught him what it meant to be alone. It was troubling how different Crowley's own upbringing was from his own; but that he had gone through all that and still had grown to be a most valiant character only raised his admiration of him.

"I need to head inside," said Crowley, after a few moments of peaceful quiet. "To talk with the farmers for a bit. Go have a look around, and I urge you to try the apples for yourself. I think you will like them."

With a small bow, Crowley retreated into the house, and Aziraphale walked on, circling the rows of trees, sliding his hands over the barks. Taking Crowley's advice, he reached up to take one of the fruits and bit off a piece.

The sweetness burst easily into his mouth and he could not keep from letting out a satisfied hum at the taste. Doubtless this was the best fruit he had ever tasted, the meat crumbling between his teeth with pleasing crunch. He had just about finished when a rustle from behind caused him to turn his head.

A little bright-eyed boy peered up at him, attempting to obscure himself partially from behind another tree. Aziraphale gave him a welcoming smile, to which he responded with a small wave.

"Hello, dear."

He could not be older than ten, Aziraphale thought. His head ducked shyly. "You must be Mr Aziraphale."

"I am, and what is your name?"

"Warlock."

"Lovely name. What are you doing out here?"

"This is where I do my exploring," he replied, more confident now. "Mr Pulsifer says I may explore the grounds as I please."

"And so you shall."

"Mr Anthony seems to be very fond of you."

Aziraphale held back a chuckle. "Now I have my reservations about that. We get along well enough, though I cannot vouch for any partiality on his part."

The little boy shook his head. "It's in the way he looks at you."

All of a sudden, Aziraphale found himself flustered. "That is, um. Rather very sweet."

"Mr Anthony comes here a lot, and I have never seen him look at anyone the way he does when he looks at you."

He knew not how to respond to such a claim, but before he could utter whatever response he may have conjured, Warlock gasped loudly and broke into a run.

"What - "

A dark-clothed figure swept past Aziraphale in blur, catching up to the swift young boy and sweeping him up by the armpits. Warlock released some delighted squeals while Crowley spun him around, ten inches off the ground.

"You little scoundrel!" Crowley laughed, setting him back down on the ground, where the kid swayed on his feet. "You weren't here last time!"

Warlock stuck out his tongue. "Yes I was! But you're slow and you didn't catch me. It's because you're old now."

Crowley's shoulders shook with mirth, and he tapped the top of the boy's head. "That I may be, but I caught you just now, didn't I?"

"Only because I was distracted!"

At this reminder, Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, his hair having been blown by the wind and his cheeks happily flushed. Try as he might, Aziraphale could not recall a time when he had ever been more beautiful.

"Hello," Aziraphale said, somewhat breathlessly, despite not having been the one who sprinted across the field.

Crowley's smile became more subdued, and he averted his gaze. "I came to get you. We're to have tea inside."

"Ah," he responded, feeling suddenly very warm. "Of course. Shall we?"

* * *

Tea with the Pulsifers was an affair he had not anticipated. Crowley introduced him to Mr Newt Pulsifer, the tenant-farmer charged with the care of this farm. Aziraphale was surprised to see how Crowley conducted himself, as though he were neither landlord nor master. On the contrary, he and Mr Pulsifer seemed like old friends. It was very different from how Gabriel, who would sooner let himself be trampled than be caught having tea with a farmer, treated his own tenants.

Conversation with the Pulsifers went on smoothly, and though Aziraphale knew little on the matters they talked about, he was content with sitting back to listen. By the time he and Crowley were back in the barouche, Aziraphale found that his spirits were the highest they had ever been since he had married.

The skies were still clear as their vehicle trotted over the bumpy hillside. Aziraphale looked over to where Crowley sat, across from him, an arm sprawled casually over the backrest.

"You have the most remarkable relationship with your tenants."

Crowley inhaled deeply, mulling over his words before speaking. "It matters to me what they think. Land takes easily to the thoughts and actions of those who care for it."

"Oh." That was a perspective that he had never considered himself, though he knew it to be true. He nodded meekly. "Then I hope I have made a good impression."

The corner of Crowley's mouth tugged up into a knowing grin. "They like you. You knew that, just as I know you are only fishing for compliments from me."

Aziraphale grumbled at the accusation. "I assure you I have no idea how they may have found me."

Crowley's expression turned more serious. "I think they expected you to be more like your brother, which evidently you are not." A disgusted shudder crossed his features at the very thought of having to be married to one even remotely similar to Gabriel. "They saw it instantly, and."

"And...?"

Crowley smirked. "Shall I continue? I know you will only gloat."

"I do not _gloat,_ " retorted he, pouting furiously. "That is rather more your area, my dear."

"They think you a good influence on me."

Aziraphale bit his lip, suppressing a smile. "Does it please you that they seem to think we are a good match?"

"We are," Crowley replied, looking directly at him, without scruple. "And it pleases me greatly that they see it too."

* * *

The next day, Aziraphale sat, engrossed in a gripping novel in the drawing room, and was struck when Crowley came in to join him, sprawling himself languidly over the sofa in an attempt to take a nap.

"Crowley."

"Hm?" One eye opened as the other squinted. "What is it?"

"I do wonder. Mrs Tracy told me that you went to college."

"I did, yes."

"Well." Aziraphale licked his chapped lips, closing his book over his lap. "I'm a bit curious. I never went to college. I have no idea what it is like."

"Really? You'd have done well in it, I think."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Gabriel said that a gentleman does not sully his hands with matters of employment."

"Of course he did." Crowley scoffed.

"What about before that?"

"Before?" Crowley sat up on the sofa, running a hand through his hair. "Before I went to college, I was sent to Harrow." At Aziraphale's silent confused look, he continued. "Boarding school."

"Oh." Aziraphale felt himself burning with a lot of questions. He had never been sent to any formal schooling. Everything he knew had been taught to him directly by his family, or learned from the books he'd chosen to read. "What did you study?"

"Well. Lots of things, I suppose. Geography. Arithmetic. Philosophy. Latin." His composure tightened before resuming his speech. "But if you're asking what I actually studied, then I feel you ought to know. I was about to take up orders just before my brother passed."

Aziraphale's eyes widened with disbelief. "You, a _clergyman?_ "

Crowley grumbled. "What is so wrong with that? It's a perfectly respectable profession!"

"Oh, I do not doubt it, my dear. But for you? I shall not be sorry to have missed it. It does not suit you at all."

"I will choose to take that as a compliment, whatever your intention. But it was either that or enter the regiment, which I found even less appealing."

"This is utterly remarkable."

"Mr Fell has a point. A gentleman does _not_ sully themselves with matters of trade. But unfortunately for us younger offspring of the gentry, we have very little options."

"But it all worked out for the best, did it not?" replied Aziraphale, beaming.

Crowley remained still, a pensive look on his face. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Before Aziraphale could make another response, he laid back down on the sofa and resumed his nap.

* * *

With the full force of a most singular epiphany, Aziraphale had come to the earth-shattering conclusion that, sometime during the course of his marriage, he had fallen deeply in love with his husband.

He did not quite know when it had begun, only that he was several feet deep by the time he had fully grasped it. It had been the most natural phenomenon, amongst all that nature could provide. Gradual though it was, it could not be denied. His love for Crowley lit up like a flame on a candle - one moment a flickering spark on a wick, and a raging fire in the next instant.

The days that followed their visit to the Pulsifers passed pleasantly by. Aziraphale was gratified to find that his bond with Crowley grew stronger still. They had begun to take their meals together, and Aziraphale accompanied him more often on his daily excursions. He had gotten to know the small community around Tadfield, and to a warm reception. And all the while, Crowley opened up to him in increasing measure. Conversations between them flowed freely, whether they be bickering over the most trivial matters or challenging the other's ill-conceived notions on any topic under the sun. However much their opinions varied, they could find a common middle ground on all of them. 

Aziraphale had always thought it a small miracle to be married to a good friend; but to somehow find _love_ in that marriage, whether his hopes were returned to a degree equal to what he felt or merely a fraction of it, doubtless made him the luckiest in the world. For who could find pleasure greater than that found in the privilege of loving a good friend?

These recent developments had long been on his mind by the time that Crowley appeared suddenly over his shoulder, late one afternoon, during a walk in the gardens, to tell him that he had a surprise for him.

"A surprise? Whatever for?" Puzzled, Aziraphale did not protest as Crowley tugged on his sleeve and led him back into the house. "Did I miss anything important? I am sure it is not yet our anniversary."

"No, nothing like that. Just come with me."

He followed him through the side-door back into the house, moving past the dining hall to pause at the bottom of the staircase. 

"I do hope this is not far," said Aziraphale, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"It isn't, do not fret."

They went up the stairs, one step at a time. It was only when they took the slight left turn at the top of the staircase did Aziraphale realise where exactly Crowley was taking him.

"Crowley - "

"Here we are!"

They stopped, as expected, outside the perpetually locked double doors that had tickled his curiosity since the first day he'd arrived at this home.

"This is... your brother's study?" 

" _Was_ my brother's study. It is something else now."

Aziraphale frowned. "You have specifically kept this room a secret from me since the beginning of our marriage! Mrs Tracy said that only you are allowed to enter this room."

"I'm surprised you never asked me about it, actually."

"Are you really?"

"Where is your sense of adventure? You've read _Udolpho._ I'd have expected you to be more excited about this."

"Crowley, it is precisely because I have read _Udolpho_ that I am least inclined to know what you've been hiding in this room, situated inside a large and _ancient_ family home."

"For heaven's sake, Aziraphale, just open it."

Aziraphale settled his palms on the door handles, holding his breath as he pushed them down, A flicker of surprise made known its presence when the material gave way to him for once.

Slowly, he pushed the heavy doors back and swung them open. The first thing that hit him was the smell - warm and dearly familiar in a way that brought to him a flurry of memories. The smell of old paper, filling in the air, followed by the sight of dust floating and dotting the fading sunlight which filtered through the large windows on the far side. Above all else, of which there were hundreds (maybe close to a thousand), were books lining shelves upon shelves, scattered about the wide expanse of the room.

"Crowley, what is all this?" His throat had constricted, and he choked up as he spoke.

Crowley stepped further into the room, hanging close by his side - a near and comforting presence.

"I was unable to get this ready in time for the wedding," he said, beaming proudly. "But it is all good now. I hand the rest over to you. This is your personal library."

An ache spread over his chest, which promptly gave in to a feebly suppressed sob. "I have only ever seen my own family's collection. And all my favourites I have had to let go of. They belong to Gabriel now. I never thought I would... that I could - "

He trailed off, eyes scanning the room with awe. No words he could come up with seemed to capture what he felt, and instead he listened when Crowley spoke once more.

"Most of these were my father's collection as well, but it was droll. I do not think you'd have liked much of it. So I've been meeting up with a colleague who knew more about all this and looked into more titles which I thought may be more suited to your taste. I know very little about novels, but she was a great help to me. Should you be in need of any more, I'll introduce you to my proprietor and you can work it out."

"I do not think you realise how much this means to me, my dear. All the trouble you went through."

"It was not a lot of trouble, Aziraphale. Think nothing of it."

"I cannot do that. I am done with pretending."

"What do you mean?"

Before he could think the better of it, he flung himself towards Crowley, arms around the lanky man's shoulders, drawing him into a tight hug. Crowley stood stiffly, his own arms limp, seemingly wondering where his own hands should go, but that mattered not to Aziraphale, who now pressed kisses onto his shoulder, crying and whispering: _"Thank you. Thank you."_

Woven into those small whispers was all of his love, the amount of which had already been spilling over its constraints, and now had nowhere else to go but to its rightful recipient.

A small huff of laughter from Crowley shook them both before he at last returned the hug, palms laying flat over his back. "I am pleased that you like it." Aziraphale felt that low whisper, rumbling against his chest, as clearly as he felt a pair of lips pressed lightly into his hair.

"This is incredible. I am speechless." Aziraphale pulled back to look into his face and, unable to help himself, kissed one faintly freckled cheek. "No one has ever done this much for me," he murmured against Crowley's skin.

"Who else would, if not myself?" Crowley tilted his head by a fraction, and at once Aziraphale felt his mouth ghosting over his ear before pressing firmly, drawing out a shiver. "I do hope you do not have any other husbands in hiding."

"None at all, my dear. Just you. Only you." He placed numerous kisses over Crowley's cheek, trailed more down the line of his jaw, and with a slight turn of Crowley's head did their open mouths align, scant space leaving their lips apart, and they breathed heavily into each other.

A whimper arose from Crowley's throat, faint but could not be mistaken, and Aziraphale closed his eyes and dove in for a hungry, desperate kiss.

Crowley's response was instant, much to his utter delight, swiftly sliding his hand up Aziraphale's spine and bending him back with more forceful, needy kisses. Aziraphale strained, grabbing hold of his face in a feeble attempt to calm him to a more soothing pace. His neck craned from how much Crowley towered over him, and the taller man would not relent. With a low growl, he nudged Aziraphale backwards, marching blindly until the back of his thighs hit a desk.

Aziraphale gasped, an opportunity taken by Crowley to slip his tongue into his mouth. He let out a pleased sigh, relaxing into his hold. His hands glided over Crowley's chest, charting territory, moving further up to tug firmly on a loose end of his cravat.

Crowley willingly went, arching into him while Aziraphale seated himself over the desk and spread his legs. With his usual swiftness of manner, he hurried to fill in the gap, slotting himself firmly against his groin. Aziraphale moaned, unabashed, at the first brush of their arousals. 

Their lips parted with a wet sound, ringing through the room. "Is this what you want?" Crowley's voice was raspy, deep and heavy with unmistakable desire.

Aziraphale nodded frantically, chasing his mouth. "Yes. _Yes._ More than anything." He drew Crowley in for another kiss, but Crowley coyly kept his face a short distance away. He whined. "Darling, please. Need you to kiss me. Need your hands on me."

He wound his legs around Crowley's waist, crossed at the ankles over his lower back. Capturing him, keeping him still. Crowley placed another hot kiss over his mouth, his tongue skillfully gliding with his own, before pulling back again.

"What are you doing?" asked Crowley, his darkened gaze burning into him.

"Securing you," returned Aziraphale, tightening his legs around him. "So that you may not run away this time."

Crowley stood frozen, guilt flickering over his features, and for a moment Aziraphale regretted his words. But he realised he had no need to feel any guilt. It was Crowley who had pained him the first time. Let him feel a fraction of the hurt he'd caused him.

But he could not find it in himself to simmer in rage for long, and he moved back in apologetically, licking a stripe down Crowley's chiseled jawline, nipping at it playfully. The taller man groaned, and his hands found purchase in Aziraphale's coat, slipping it past his shoulders. 

They moved decisively, shedding off layers of clothing with an eagerness that was undoubtedly shared in equal. Aziraphale was alight, burning in a cacophony of lust and love and _need_ and _greed._ He claimed every new inch of Crowley's skin bared, and lovingly took in all that was readily offered him.

"Aziraphale." Crowley mumbled against one pert, sensitive bud on his chest, closing his lips firmly around it and sucking lightly. Aziraphale arched into his mouth with a keening moan. "You are so beautiful. You do not know how long I've wanted you."

Aziraphale took crimson locks in the grasp of one hand, gasping. "You have me. You have all of me."

Using the hold he had on Crowley's head, he gently guided him back up until they were eye to eye.

"I want to..." Aziraphale lowered his gaze, hot flush blanketing his bare chest and slowly creeping up his neck. 

"Yes, angel?"

He shivered at the monicker, pleased at the thrill that it produced. He made evident his approval with another swift attack to Crowley's mouth, parting his lips to draw out his tongue and suck needily on it.

Crowley moaned, soft giggles bursting out in huffs from his nose. He drew back, grinning lightly. "You like that, don't you?"

Aziraphale flushed some more. "I want you inside me."

He watched carefully as his husband's expression morphed from smug to shock, before finally settling into wonder, giving a frantic nod. "Yes. Fuck. Angel, whatever you want. You will have whatever..."

His words trailed off in his haste to undo his pantaloons, but Aziraphale stilled his hands.

"Wait!" 

Crowley froze, staring once again in panic. Aziraphale hurried to soothe him with a kiss carefully placed on the downturned corner of his mouth. "After everything you put me through, I will be damned if I do not get to have you in my bed."

Carefully, he slid off the desk, and with his feet planted on the floor he took one of Crowley's hands in his own and laced their fingers together. There was still a part of him which feared that Crowley would run off.

But Crowley was pliant in his grasp, and he obediently followed Aziraphale when they treaded warily out into the hall, flushed and half-naked, and into his chambers.

* * *

That night they spent hours lost in each other, tumbling in the sheets until the burning fires of need died into embers and their bodies tired out, and even then they clung to each other, exchanging lazy kisses and languid touches, whispers of all the best praises hanging on their tongue, and Aziraphale considered himself the luckiest in the world.

In the morning, he awoke and reached across a cold and empty bed.

Shocked and enveloped in deepest dismay he was, though it did not long take him to realise what had happened. A simple inquiry after the servants only confirmed it to him further. Crowley had set out early in the day and was boldly and unashamedly _avoiding_ him.

With trepidation, it dawned on him that he may have gotten carried away by his affections, his own misconceptions on the true nature of his relations with Crowley. Their marriage, after all, had been nothing more than a transaction. The Fells had bought their way into rank and status, and with that transaction over, Crowley had obtained all that he needed out of the arrangement.

All that came after that was only an accessory. Just as he was, as a spouse. A partner to dangle over Crowley's elbow whose only purpose was to dazzle. One that Crowley wore and took off whenever he pleased.

All this was an entirely new epiphany for Aziraphale. But even in his deepest rage and disappointed hopes, he could not settle in the position he somehow found himself in, where he knew he deserved better. Had Crowley never shown a physical attraction towards him he would have excused further, but the events from last night made it clear that, to great extent, Crowley desired him - which made his actions all the more inexcusable.

Moreover, he was promised to be Crowley's _equal in every respect._ And with this resolve to back him, he cornered Crowley the moment he set foot past the doors of the drawing room. 

He fixed Crowley with a stern and heavy gaze, edging towards the door to make certain he would not slip out. Crowley stood silently a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

"When this union began, I had hoped that we would become good friends," Aziraphale started, keeping his voice level. He would not be pushed around. He would be brave. "This is, after all, an alliance. I wanted you to see me as your ally. Someone you could trust."

"We are friends, Aziraphale."

"I beg to differ," he snapped, and relished at the wince that prevailed on Crowley's composure. "No friend of mine has ever thrown me off as dismissively as you did just this morning. After you swore to treat me as your equal!"

"It has nothing to do with that."

He stalked forward, moving around him, and he could no longer conceal any emotion, though his voice remained firm as his resolve was. "How come I never know what to expect from you? One moment I allow myself to think that you see me as your world, then the next you fling me off like the dirt around your shoe! This treatment of your spouse is most reprehensible conduct, and while plenty may choose to put up with it, I will not stand for it a day longer."

"I know that. Of course you wouldn't. You don't deserve any of this, I know.” Crowley seemed on the verge of tears, holding back at the last moment to stare openly at him. "I have a... _high regard_ for you, Aziraphale. And it is these affections I have which urge me to keep from you a respectful distance. For whatever reason I may have gotten carried away, you may be assured it will not happen again."

"I do not understand you. Why be distant at all? And do not lie to me, for I think last night has made it clear that you desire me, and I am here. I am willing. To what are you still making your refusal?"

Crowley turned his back. "I do not think it wise to be having this conversation."

Aziraphale laughed derisively. "Because you have got my money, and now you've bedded me as well, now you are done with me? You may speak to me in earnest. I doubt you can say more that will shock me at this point!"

"Because you cannot give any portion of yourself to me, or I might learn to never be satisfied with what I can get!"

Aziraphale was struck by the urgency in his manner. When he again found his voice, and became confident that he could be steady, he said, "Would that be so awful? I said I am willing."

"All the more that it endangers you. You cannot give yourself to me, Aziraphale."

"I think I will decide that for myself," he replied haughtily, crossing his arms and moving closer to the other man. "Explain it, then. The entire truth, as I am finding it a real struggle to believe your words."

A moment of contemplative silence passed, but Aziraphale stayed firmly put. One way or another, he would obtain the whole truth and clear out the smoke that had always shrouded his husband.

With a sigh of resignation, Crowley gestured for him to take a seat.

They perched themselves on opposite ends of the sofa, keeping tightly to their own spaces. Aziraphale waited in patience while he gathered his thoughts, wondering momentarily whether he was fully prepared for what he was about to hear.

At last, Crowley deemed it fit to begin his tale.

"The first thing I feel you ought to know is the real reason why I needed the money. My brother's gambling habits left the estate already in shambles, and his agent ruined him further, proving himself to be unworthy of trust. The tenants, at this point, were starving. This was the state of affairs I found myself in when I took charge of this seat.

"It of course occurred to me that I needed to obtain a large sum of money to resolve most of these matters, followed by rigorous improvement over management of the property. And the easiest way to come into money was to marry someone who already had it."

Aziraphale nodded. "This much I know, though I am sorry to hear that your agent has betrayed you so. I should not have pushed you to get another."

Crowley shook his head. "You did not know, do not blame yourself." At Aziraphale's silent urging, he continued. "But that was not the reason I asked you to marry me. I did not do any fortune hunting and settled on the largest prize, it was only by mere circumstance that you were so, in addition to the affection I have long held towards you."

"Affection?" Aziraphale whispered in shock. "Even before the proposal, you mean?"

Crowley's cheeks suddenly went flaming red. "Before _Bath,_ Aziraphale."

His jaw dropped open. "Before Bath? How could that be possible?"

"I have been positively enchanted with you from the beginning. A year ago, I went home because I needed to settle some matters over the property, but at the time I could not find it in myself to settle here for good. For years after my brother died, I still went on, gallivanting around various places as though I were still an insignificant younger son instead of an heir presumptive. But that time, I struggled with matters of faith as well. And after sermon, I saw you standing outside the church, out in the rain, holding an umbrella over an elderly man's head. You probably do not remember."

"No, I... I remember." Aziraphale breathed heavily as he picked up fragments of the memory. "He was all alone, and I kept him company until the rain stopped."

"And you were radiant. The most beautiful person I've ever seen."

Tears sprung over his lids, but Aziraphale reminded himself that he needed to keep firm his resolve until he'd heard the whole truth. He nodded, indicating for Crowley to continue.

"I had hoped to make your acquaintance some more. I went to church that day with a thousand questions, and I stepped outside and saw all the answers in you. And with that, I made the decision to face my responsibilities and settle here, in full commitment."

"But I have never spoken to you before Bath. What happened? Why did you not seek me out as you intended to?"

"I was slowly working up the courage. Even suffered through Thursday nights at that card club to make myself known to your brother." A small smile graced his lips. "Ridiculous, I know."

"He says you do quite well in speculation."

"Inaccurate. I decimate all of them in speculation. Though your brother is a fair player, I confess."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I can see that, though I doubt he'd be anywhere near as good as you are."

"It was during those card meetings that Mr Fell - _Gabriel_ let it slip that you had received an offer from Sandalphon."

"You know about that?" Aziraphale corrected himself quickly. "Never mind. I know Gabriel has never learned when to shut up his gloating. Of course he would mention it."

"I have another circle of acquaintances in which Lord Sandalphon also sometimes makes an appearance. And shortly before that I heard him talk of a rich blond man he would soon bag. I did not connect two and two together until Gabriel made mention of it, and by then I realised I did not have the luxury of time.

"Now before you make any judgment over my actions, you do not know, Aziraphale. You did not _hear_ the disgusting manner in which that useless baron of the lower rungs spoke of you. In confidence, he thought, of men he believed to be every bit as despicable as himself. But I seethed internally, long before I knew it was in reference to you, and when I discovered that it _was_ you, I burned with rage. You could not deserve such a man who was barely even a person. It could not be borne. But I also knew that, without another offer, Gabriel might have persuaded you to accept him eventually."

Grimly, Aziraphale realised that he was right. How close exactly had he been to binding himself to such a pitiful creature? The idea had never even occurred to him, but his heart ached now with the mere suggestion that, in his youthful foolishness, he could have attached himself to anyone other than Crowley.

He steeled himself once more. "Continue."

"So I formulated a scheme, of sorts, to get you out of it. And here I fear that you may think differently of me, which is why I endeavoured to conceal it from you. But all I could think of was how to save you, and I did that by giving you the power of choice. If I offered for you myself, and you chose to accept me instead, it was well that you may not have any real affection for me, but I was determined to make certain your happiness, in whatever way I could provide it to you. And to keep you for myself, under my own roof, after I've longed for you for so long is my most selfish act to date, but I do not regret having done it. It has saved you from a lifetime of misery with one who could not revere you in the manner you deserve.

"I figured that we could cohabitate in relative peace, that I could keep out of your way as much as possible. You have no idea how it agitated me that I could not get the library prepared in time for your arrival. I was certain you would be so unhappy here, but you surprised me. Even when I am not on my best behaviour, you are so pleasant. So charming and gleeful and only a little bit of a bastard. You are just as stubborn as you are kind, and you wore me down completely. You could not have had a heart more yours than my own.

"But I never allowed myself to hope for more. I was under no illusion about this marriage and why you agreed to it. That we wound up being compatible, that I could talk and banter and laugh with you so easily, was already more than I believed I could have. Anything beyond that seemed too much; too great a miracle to be reality. And any time we toed over that boundary, I would be overcome. I needed to retreat because I am already so entirely yours, Aziraphale. And if you were to give that to me, I would only want more, and I would take more than what I should. I had already placed you in this marriage, I could not bear to impose on your freedom any further. You are my husband, but I do not own you. I cannot possess you, and. And ultimately it would pain me more to know that you are doing any of these out of a sense of duty, just as you did on our wedding night, when I stopped you from taking off your clothing. Duty which I know you have a lot of, else you would never have agreed to this marriage in the first place. 

"I hope you understand now my reasons. They are not meant to be excuses. I acknowledge that my own selfish desires have played a significant part in all of this, but all I ask is that you do not resent me for it. I am still determined to give you a fulfilled life. My own feelings have little weight. It is more than enough for me to see you happy, and you may still do as you please."

Aziraphale by this point, was reduced only to an ache growing in prominence in his chest. Tears spilled over his cheeks freely, all his love bursting out of the seams.

How long had he been kept in the dark? Crowley loved him. Truly loved him, and for so long a time, beyond what he previously knew. Beyond what he knew he deserved. How can he have failed to see this? Crowley spoke of him as though he embodied the label of angel bestowed on him. He was a fool not to have seen it, and a greater one still for allowing him to suffer with it for so long.

"If you are determined to see me happy, then as a dutiful husband, you would do well to come over here and kiss me senseless, until I forget everything and remember only the man I have had the privilege of marrying."

Crowley swallowed hard. "Were you not listening to anything I just said?"

"My love, I heard every word. And believe me, I am exceedingly delighted over all of it, but if you do not kiss me right this moment I fear I may wither where I sit."

"What?"

"I beg you to kiss me, Crowley!"

He needed no more prompting. Crowley crawled over the vast space between them and took him in his arms, capturing his mouth into a searing hot kiss. Aziraphale took instantly to him, already fighting with the buttons over Crowley's waistcoat.

"I need to show you, my dear," he said in between more frantic press of their lips. "I will show you how much I love you, and that my heart is bound to you in every way you claim yours is to me."

Crowley gasped and hugged him to his chest. "Angel. You cannot. I do not deserve it." These words he murmured into the skin of Aziraphale's neck and followed by the drag of a hot tongue. 

Aziraphale shivered against him. "I have loved you so desperately, even before I knew all that you have done for me. How could I not? You are so stunning. So clever and admirable, particularly so in the places you are more comfortable in. Then you really outshine everyone in the room."

Crowley gasped when he moved to bite into Crowley's ear, soothing it with tongue soon after. "It can no longer go unmentioned," he whispered adoringly. "This night you will know to what extent my love for you burns."

He felt him nodding against his cheek. "Would you want me to take you again?"

Aziraphale hummed happily into his collar, his arms winding around Crowley's back so that they are pressed firmly in a tight embrace.

"Tonight I was actually hoping to do the reverse. You've done so well for me last night, my love. I should like to do the same for you."

His hand slid down over Crowley's groin to palm his arousal. The taller man groaned low into his ear. "Yes. Angel, please."

"But before that." Aziraphale pulled back, arms crossing over his chest as he, in curious study, dragged his gaze over every inch of Crowley's expression.

"What are you looking at?"

"I am assessing your chances of running away again."

Crowley tugged on his hands and stood up. "None, Aziraphale. In fact, I fully intend on taking you to my bed where, I should say, you better remain for the following days."

Aziraphale feigned a gasp, standing up as well. "You foul fiend! Must you have your way with me in such brute fashion?"

"Only if you like," answered Crowley, partially teasing. "But I do plan on having my way with you. Constantly. Repeatedly."

Aziraphale burst into more giggles, the entirety of their conversation only now catching up to him. And though it partially dimmed his arousal, it strengthened the depth of his love. He could not have any further regrets from now on. 

This time, when they reached the top of the staircase they turned, hand in hand, towards the same direction.

*****

[1] The English ‘country dance’ is, in fact, rooted from this French term in reference to how the dancers would face one another in a set and has nothing to do with dancing in any particular country. By this time, the country dance was widely popular with the English, but Mr Gabriel Fell would insist on any excuse to flaunt his knowledge of the more *ehem _*_ _cultured_ language.

[2] A gentleman did not collect money by their own hand. As such, tradesmen and merchants were considered a class lower. The only respectable genteel professions were in the clergy, the military and Navy, and the law (but only if you were a barrister and not a solicitor). Doctors also were not considered genteel as they collected fees directly from their patients.

[3] The thought of wearing any sort of powdered wig in the year of our Lord 1814 is appalling to Aziraphale. The only ones who still insisted on them were elderly men who wished specifically to enhance their repulsiveness. And by that he meant men like Lord Sandalphon. Aziraphale had _standards._

[4] Whist is a game favored by the old and unattractive. Speculation, a rather more cutthroat game requiring sharpened skills in arithmetic and negotiation, is sexy.

[5] Any etiquette book will state that it is considered a slight to dance with one gentleman after having refused another. To avoid this imprudence, one must accept an offer of a dance unless that person means to quit all dancing for the rest of the night. Should one be most _disinclined_ to dance with a certain gentleman, the only other option is to play a relentless, several hours-long game of hide-and-seek --though a mastery of swiftly ducking into crowds, and obscuring one’s face with large fans in so natural a manner, is required to pull this off.

[6] In this respect, the author must (regretfully) side with Gabriel. It is considered rude to not call on the home of a dance partner, specifically one you have shown great attentions to, the day after a ball.

[7] Other than being known as an alternative to London for socialization with fashionable society, Bath was also a place to which the ailing and elderly flocked, in hopes of reprieve from their ailments by drinking the healing waters of the Roman baths.

[8] Had the fair reader been expecting here a little smooch they would have set themselves up for disappointment. These are no uncouth citizens. Public kissing, in all forms, is extremely frowned upon!

[9] Sir Anthony here is entirely correct. No one negated marriages anymore on grounds of non-consummation. One may, however, annul such contract on grounds of impotency _(though for obvious reasons, that small trivia will not factor in this idealized, nonhomophobic universe)._ And for some reason, it was entirely legal to marry a first cousin but not, say, a recently widowed sibling-in-law.

[10] Entry of guests into balls and dinner parties followed a strict sequence in accordance to rank and precedence. The author finds it a fruitless endeavor to explain this any further. It was just as ridiculous as it was _very_ confusing.

[11] Aziraphale is correct here. Dancing is a community affair, and balls are for socialization. It is considered disrespectful to focus one’s attentions towards only one person the entire night, even more so if that person is already one’s spouse. But you may excuse Crowley, I am sure, for he is only a fool so besotted with a certain fair-haired angel and would want his attentions fixated only on him, etiquette be damned.

[12] It is a carriage.

**Author's Note:**

> I admittedly may have gone a little overboard. I just got so excited because this fic allowed me to do things that I couldn't in all my other works, and it's always such a joy to write about something that you are already heavily invested in!
> 
> If you've made it to the very end, you have my deepest gratitude. <3 Please do let me know what you think down below. Now, back to updating my Sugar Daddy Crowley AU....
> 
> I'm also on twitter! @angelsnuffbox

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Circumstances of Distinction fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816589) by [Patolozka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patolozka/pseuds/Patolozka)




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